Hiding
by Leah Bea
Summary: ::One-Shot:: "...perhaps he had forgotten a small problem with white - it hides nothing and reveals all..."


_I must be sick. This makes three new things in one night. But this one is more me than my Yami one. =) Much more me. Oh, dear, be afraid. And, good god these have been REALLY short! T.T Noooooooo. This was based on a class assignment, and I basically stuck to my assignment until the very end. Dang it. Anyway, I know who this is speaking of, but I wonder if anyone else will know. =) Kinda like my first YGO fic, eh? Guess the identity type-thing. Yeah. Anyway on with the story_   
  
  
  
He stared up at the white ceiling that stretched over his room. It was plain, as most ceiling are bound to be, but this one was exeptionally plain. Most would be somewhat interesting because they would reflect the atmosphere, or so he assumed. His ceiling, however, was dull. It was cold. It was heartless. It was impersonal. It reflected his room perfectly. Nothing for himself, all that was in it were bare neccesaties. His school books lay cassually on the desk in the far corner from the door. His bed was covered with white linens. His carpet a clean white, not a single item littered the floor. The walls were white as well, though they held no pictures, no posters, no shelves. The room was sure to be recognized as a guestroom, until someone saw the school books. They were the only hint that this room belonged to someone.   
  
Sighing, he rolled over and stared at his door. The door was the one thing in the room that the boy held personally dear. He mentally chuckles at this thought. A door was the thing that he held personally dear. His few acquantances held things like heirlooms and friendships items dear to them. He, well, he held a _door_ close to his heart. What did it matter though? If anyone actually listened to him they would be able to find out the reason when he held such a thing close to him. It functioned as a normal door would, it opened and it closed, even had a lock. The boy concidered it to be either an earth's version of Hell's gates, or an earth's version of Heaven's gates. It all depended on what side of the door you were on. From the side he was on now, it would be the Gate's to Heaven, while if he was coming into the room it would be Hell's gates. No one ever really understood his logic. But how could they? They woul dhave to know his life as well as he did. They would have to live through it as long as he did. Why would anyone want to do that? There is not reason to want to live his life, but there are plenty of reasons why someone would not like to live his life.   
  
Another sigh fell from his lips as his eyes fell onto the wooden desk in the far corner. It in good condition, as were the other few items in his room. Only, this piece was different from the other bland objects in his medium sized room. It was painted a color other than white. His mother had done it three days before her death. His other shuddered at the color, which was a light blue, each time he saw it. The boy did not care, though. He refused to re-paint the seven year old piece of furniture, though he was not sure why. Surely it could not be because his mother, a woman he had barely known, had painted it. No. No. That could not possibly be the reason for it. But then... Why? Why would he not simply pull the desk outside and paint it? It had taken his mother days to paint it at her pace. Her health had been declined greatly at the time, from what he had been told by his father. His father had also left him, only he had left three years past. He now lived alone. What did it matter, though? No one even knew about his home situation. At least, no one but his other.   
  
His other was really himself. And yet not quite him. This is how it was explained to him, and so this is how he explained it Not that anyone ever asked, of course. If they did, he would probably forget his answer from the shock of being talked to. Not at. No one ever really looked at him, they looked in his general direction. Many would not meet his eyes, though he had no idea why. Not that it mattered, of course. No one ever would look at him, or speak to him. There was no point in going over his reactions to a person talking to him, if none ever would.   
  
No, he was not a self-pitying person. He was one of the few who recognized the truth of the world before it could really hurt him. Before it could really kill him. A dark smile crossed his pale features as he raises his eyes up to look at the white pillow above his head. No one understood why he was so obsessed with white. No one understood that he was trying desperately to appear innocent. He did not want to be responsible for the crime of bringing his other back into this world, he wanted to try and hide his impurity with a pure color. He even tried to hide himself within these white walls, he tried to cover himself up and pretend that no one was here. No one could hurt him. Nothing could ever happen. No one would ever find out about his grave error. The error of bringing _him_ back. Of bringing his other back to this land.   
Perhaps he had forgotten a small problem with white. It hides nothing, and shows all. To hide a secret you must hide it in the dark, for the light will reveal it cruelly. The blackness will hide all of you secrets, your fears, your true feelings. The whiteness will hide nothing. 


End file.
